(just say) you won't let go
by michellejjones
Summary: "You look handsome in the morning light." Her voice is soft and full of sleepy smiles as his eyes snap over to her again; "Of course," Hermione sleepily continues as she stretches, "you look handsome all the time, but this morning especially." [It happened slowly, Hermione supposes. Falling in love with Fred. Oneshot. AU. Fremione.]


**Hello everyone! This is another ridculously long Fremione oneshot. I hope you enjoy it!**

 **Title:** **(just say) you won't let go.**

 **Summary:** **"You look handsome in the morning light." Her voice is soft and full of sleepy smiles as his eyes snap over to her again; "Of course," Hermione sleepily continues as she stretches, "you look handsome all the time, but this morning especially." [It happened slowly, Hermione supposes. Falling in love with Fred. Oneshot. AU. Fremione.]**

 **Disclaimer:** **I do not own _Harry Potter,_ or James Arthur's song.**

 **Notes:** **I took the prompt _"or, you know, you can not be boring and help me"_ and used it as a starting point for this fic, and it literally just took off from there. This work is also _heavily_ inspired by James Arthur's song _"Say You Won't Let Go"_** **(title of this work is also taken from the song), and I'd 100% recommend listening to that song while reading this stupidly long fanfiction. This fic is also an AU, in which Fred lives but Arthur Weasley dies, and pretty much everything after that is the same save for who ends up with who. Ye've been warned.  
**

* * *

 **(just say) you won't let go.**

 _"then you smiled, over your shoulder;  
for a minute i was stone-cold sober.  
i pulled you closer to my chest.  
and you asked me to stay over  
-i said, i already told you:  
i think that you should get some rest."  
_ **-james arthur, _say you won't let go._**

 **by michellejjones.**

* * *

Hermione finds her way to Fred's flat easily enough, apparating in just as he'd instructed her. She shakes the snow from her jacket and slips her boots off, feet sore and heavy from the day. His flat is dark, darker than usual, but it's only when Hermione takes in the worrisome silence that she pulls her wand out and holds it before her, gathering her wits and taking a step forward. Silently, she scans the apartment with a spell, relaxing only slightly when she registers only one other person in the apartment; out on the balcony. She walks briskly over to it and finds red hair framed by night, drooped shoulders defeated by exhaustion.

"Fred?" Hermione calls as she steps out; his stance doesn't change, which tells her that he knows she's been here all along. He's quiet, and it's unnerving; Fred Weasley is many things, but quiet has never been among them. "Fred, what's wrong?"

The wind whips at them, and she thinks she hears him reply, but it gets caught and carried away; Hermione sits next to him and finds that he nurses a bottle of firewhisky. "I have his voice." Fred continues, not knowing Hermione hadn't heard the beginning of his sentence. "I had forgotten that, until George and I walked into the Burrow and mum-" Fred blinks "-and mum just comes bolting out of the kitchen to look at that damn clock that George and I keep forgetting to take down, and then she just stands there, looking so _defeated,_ until I clear my throat and she looks up and I say _what's wrong mum?_ And she just... just says it. Couldn't stop herself. I s'pose."

"Says what?" Hermione squints against the darkness.

 _"'I'd forgotten that you sound like him.'"_

All at once, Hermione understands.

"The only thing that George and I have that isn't identical to each other is our voices," Fred continues, almost as if Hermione wasn't sitting right next to him, watching London with contempt. "When we were younger we sounded the same, but as we got older I started to sound more like dad and his voice started to sound raspier." Fred snorts, bitter. "Never thought sounding like dad was a bad thing until-"

Hermione's hand finds his own, the one free of firewhisky, and she holds it firmly. "I still don't think it's a bad thing."

He snickers, lacing their fingers together more firmly before bringing the bottle to his lips. "You're full of it, Granger."

"Right back at you, Weasley." They sit in silence for a while longer, before Hermione says, "let's go inside and order some takeout, okay?"

Fred considers her proposal, before stating his own: "or, you know, you can not be boring and help me."

She looks at him from the corner of her eye; hair like fire and eyes like hazel, tired posture with a touch of freckles dotting his skin. They're both the stubborn sort, but something tells Hermione that dragging him inside won't be a win.

So she takes the bottle. "Or," she consents, "I can not be boring and help you."

Fred frees their hands and slings his arm around her shoulders. "That's the spirit; but careful there, Granger, or you'll make me feel as if I'm enough."

Hermione takes a sip of the whiskey. "You're more than enough."

"Well, don't you just light me up."

"I tend to have that effect on people, yes. Brightest witch of her age and all that."

He hoots with laughter, swaying oh-so-slightly. They take turns drinking and soon, the bottle's empty, Fred significantly more tipsy than Hermione. He stands swiftly, pulling her up with him, rewarded with a startled _oh._ He pulls her to his chest and rests his lips atop her head, swaying to music that isn't there. "I wanted to dance with you then, you know."

"When?"

"All those years ago, at that ball."

Memories surface of a Bulgarian quidditch player and fancy dress robes, and Hermione bites back a smile. "Did you now?"

"Thought you needed some cheering up, since our dear brothers were being prats and, though Krum treated you well, he isn't exactly the funniest person in the world."

"And you _are?"_

"That's so kind of you to say, Hermione, thank you," Fred gives her a smirk that seems a little fuller than the bitter grins from before.

"My pleasure," she dryly retorts. They sway in silence before she whispers, "I would've danced with you. If you'd asked."

There's something she can't place in his eyes when he looks down, almost startled, at her omission. But then it's gone in an instant and he's clearing his throat; "ah, well, no matter; it's in the past now. At least we're dancing now."

And if they stumble inside a little _too_ close together, well, there's nobody there to see but them.

* * *

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," Hermione says, drunk but not too drunk as she takes another bite of her Chinese takeout.

"Well, if you do, I'll hold your hair back." Fred bumps his chopsticks with her, words slurring ever-so-slightly.

She rolls her eyes, and another hour passes as they talk about this and that, something in their eyes that makes her want to giggle; and it isn't due to the alcohol. No, these _feelings_ are there even when she's at her most sober.

It happened slowly, Hermione supposes. Falling in love with Fred.

Of course, he doesn't _know_ she's in love with him (and she doesn't know _he's_ in love with _her),_ but it's the facts nonetheless. They began spending more time together, either just them or in a group, began falling behind just to converse with each other without realizing it, and somewhere along the way they'd come here, to this moment.

"You should get some rest," Hermione stands, Fred echoing her movements. "I should go." He nods mutely, following her to the kitchen. "I've got a shadow now, do I?" She grins at him.

"Nah," Fred waves a hand away, "not as good-looking as you."

Then Hermione smiles over her shoulder, and for a minute, Fred is stone-cold sober, body still at the sight of her in all her glory.

"You okay?" The voice sounds far away, but it snaps him back to reality, grounding him as he finds Hermione looking at him with worry. He pulls her closer to his chest before she can say another word, and he only gets another noise of surprise before she reciprocates without asking any further questions.

That's character development, he dimly thinks; the Pre-War Hermione would've asked a million questions. When he pulls away, they make their way to his front door, where she takes out her wand to apparate home. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Hopefully." Fred nods.

She's raising her wand when Fred finds he's developed word vomit.

"Or, you know, you could... stay."

Hermione lowers her wand, surprise written on her face. "Pardon?"

"You could stay over." He rushes to clarify, "I could take the couch, or we could share the bed, not, not, like, _doing_ anything, but-"

"-I always thought you were the smooth-talking Weasley. Along with Charlie and Bill, of course." She grins at him, relaxing his alcohol-infected nerves.

"I am. It's just; you do things to me." His answer is honest, and it's then that Hermione realizes that maybe her feelings aren't as one-sided as she thought.

"You do things to me, too."

They stare at each other, leaning forward ever-so-slightly, until Hermione remembers that she's the least tipsy of the both of them, and though she doesn't think either omission is due completely to the alcohol, she knows that whatever is happening shouldn't happen like this. "But I already told you I think you should get some rest."

Slowly, Fred nods. Disappointment floods his features, but anger is nowhere to be seen. He watches her lift her wand again, watches her decide to say one more thing to him. "But, hey," she finally decides to speak, "some other time?"

Hope dawns.

"Yeah," Fred breathes out, and in that moment he knows he loves her, though she has no idea; he's surprisingly good at playing it cool. "Yeah, that sounds great."

* * *

"Just tell her," George is rocking back and forth on his rocking chair while his wife -Angelina- goes off to find Ginny and discuss quidditch.

"Tell who?"

"You know who," his twin huffs.

"You-Know-Who died two years ago, mate," Fred continues flipping through his newspaper.

"Stop being a smartass," George snaps. "You're both dancing around the fact that you're in love with each other; stop being so scared of letting go and _tell her."_

Fred lowers the newspaper. "How?"

His brother doesn't visibly react, but inside George can't help but marvel at how quiet Fred's voice sounds, how _desperate._ He's got it bad, this one. "However, whenever. It just matters that you tell her." George shifts, "besides, you've never been afraid of mucking things up before."

"Yeah, but this is different," Fred glances at his brother, "I want to stay with her, until we're grey and old and... Hermione's the one for me. I know it."

All at once George understands.

"Well then," he says, standing, running a hand over the place where his ear should be. "All the more reason to get out with it." His voice is gentler when he adds, "she _is_ the one for you, Fred. She'll say it back."

He strides inside, where Harry and Charlie are playing an intense game of chess, Angelina and Ginny are (still) talking quidditch, Hermione, Ron, and Bill are talking animatedly about Merlin-knows-what, Fleur is taking up space with Teddy and Victoire, and George, after kissing his mother, goes over to Fleur to keep her company.

Fred follows his brother, but doesn't go inside. He leans against the doorway and watches everyone, watches Bill excuse himself from the conversation and go over to help his mother, watches Ron and Hermione joke a little more before Ron goes off to supervise the chess match and Hermione catches sight of Fred in the doorway; she smiles shyly at him, and he feels himself smile back without thinking. As she makes her way towards him, he eyes the clock on the wall and feels something stir inside him; new names have been added (Angelina, Victoire, Fleur, Harry) but one name has been taken away, too.

It haunts this family, haunts everyone as Bill helps Molly in the kitchen because the man who used to isn't around anymore.

 _That could be me,_ Fred finds himself thinking. _I could be gone tomorrow._ His eyes shift to Hermione, who walks passed him, outside, waiting for him. _That could be her._

"Hey, you," she greets him as he comes to stand next to her.

"Hey," their shoulders bump.

"Looks like you got something on your mind."

"As a matter of fact, I do." Fred tilts his head. "You."

Hermione raises her eyebrows, "me?"

He nods. "I've been thinking about us."

Her expression changes. "Have you, now? And what have you thought?"

"Been thinking that I'd like to be yours -officially, that is." Fred turns to face her, bending down so he's closer to her height. "Been thinking about how I'd like to take you up on that offer you made a few weeks ago - _some other time,_ is that what you said?"

She giggles, "that is, indeed, what I recall saying."

Fred grins, "yeah, see, I like the sound of _us._ I'm pretty in love with you, Granger." He cups her chin with his fingers.

"Skipping right to love, are we?" Her tone is fearless.

"There's no way you haven't had at least _some_ idea." He leans forward, "and, besides, we've spent too much of our lives in danger to waste any time. I love you and I'm not going to hide that just because of social norms." He takes a breath, "so, what do you say? I won't let go if you don't."

Hermione looks at him, her gaze steely and strong. "I one hundred percent agree," she says. "With everything you've said."

He feels hope swell. "Wait, so does that mean-"

She kisses him before he can finish his question, but he takes it as a resounding _yes._

* * *

His footsteps are quiet as he dances around the kitchen, placing the food he's deemed worthy on a tray and a steaming mug of tea next to it. When he's done he pads silently back into the bedroom of their honeymoon suite. Stepping inside, he sees his wife (he feels giddy at the thought; _Hermione Granger, his wife)_ sleeping peacefully underneath the white bedsheets, bare shoulders tickled by her hair, messy and not at all like the elegant hairdo she'd sported at their wedding yesterday.

 _Their_ wedding.

He grins goofily to himself as he thinks about that; _them._ Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger. Husband and wife.

"You look handsome in the morning light." Her voice is soft and full of sleepy smiles as his eyes snap over to her again; he'd been standing there like an idiot, holding her breakfast tray, thinking. Hermione sits up, her bare body greeting him for only an instant as she shivers, grabbing his dress shirt -which had been hung haphazardly over the bed- and sliding it on her body, serving as a cover for now. "Of course," Hermione sleepily continues as she stretches, "you look handsome all the time, but this morning especially, my dear husband." She grins shyly at him.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and he strides towards the bed, room awash in the morning sunlight. Hermione pulls back the bed sheets and he sits down next to her, clad in nothing but his boxers and she clad in her underwear and his dress shirt. And, Fred notices, as she shifts against him, socks. Smart woman, his Hermione. "And you look radiant as always, my most beautiful wife."

Hermione makes a content sound as she eyes the tray. "What do we have here?"

"Thought I'd wake you up with some breakfast in bed," Fred drops a kiss on her head as she takes the tea and sips it. They eat quietly, and when they're done, Hermione absently traces the scars that line his stomach and his back, heavy and laden. Fred places the tray on the ground and pulls Hermione closer to him before turning and kissing her, forehead, cheeks, chin, neck, lips. She smiles into his kisses and then he pushes her onto the bed, blowing raspberries against her skin; she laughs. "I'm in love with you," He whispers into her ear.

Hermione's laughing stops and she looks at him, eyes bright and intelligent as she winds her hands around his neck, bringing him closer. "And I, Hermione Jean Granger-" she kisses his temple softly before adding _"-Weasley,_ am quite in love with you."

Fred kisses her again, and though she doesn't know, he's thanking everyone he can think of for that night so long ago, when she'd said _some other time_ and he'd been nothing but hopeful.

* * *

"Arthur!" Hermione's voice is irritated, "leave your sister alone."

Fred leans down to ruffle his son's hair, "she knows magic; don't want to mess with her _too_ much." He lowers his voice, hoping his wife won't hear: "at least, not without my help."

"Fred!" Hermione chides, and Fred fakes surprise; he isn't really surprised, but it makes their son laugh (though this isn't that hard to accomplish; Arthur Henry Weasley is as full of joy as his parents are). From across the room, Hermione checks and rechecks the list she's made of things that Antoinette Minerva Weasley will need for her third year and that Arthur will need for his first, while their daughter stumbles out of her room, clad in muggle clothes and trying to tame her bushy red hair. Fred sends Arthur to help his mother while he goes to tend to his only daughter.

"Here," Fred grabs her hair tie and begins the duty of braiding her untameable hair. "Let me, Toni."

His daughter breathes a sigh of relief, "thanks, Dad."

"Anytime," he refrains from making a joke; his daughter is stressed as it is, and he can't think of a good joke to relax her right now. Maybe before she leaves; to make sure she doesn't forget him. "You nervous?"

Some of Toni's usual confidence swings back into her as her shoulders straighten, "nah. Got some good ideas for this year, actually. Plus, I'll have James and Roxanne to hang out with."

"You'll give 'em hell?" Fred whispers conspiratorially at his thirteen-year-old daughter.

"Well, _duh."_ Toni raises a brow at him, "I learned from the best-" Fred brings a hand to his heart to show how much the compliment means to him "-aunt Ginny doesn't play around."

 _"Oi!"_

They delve into laughter as they head towards the door, Hermione handing off their two youngest to him as she begins to talk rapid-fire about last-minute things to Toni and Arthur. Matthew Stephen Weasley and Jonathan Oliver Weasley look up at him with sleepy confusion; at eight and seven, they understand what's going on but don't really care. "When will _we_ get to Hogwarts?" Matt asks his father, stomping his foot as his hand clings to Fred's bigger, calloused one.

Well, they care about _one_ thing.

"Yeah, dad, we're big e'ough." Jon accidentally steps on Matt's foot, causing Matt to yelp and sparks to fly from Matt's fingertips.

Fred has a sudden flashback to when something similar had happened to him and George, and he bites back a smile as he tears the boys apart; they might not be twins in the traditional sense, but in everything else they sure are. Their birthdays are so close together that they'll be in the same Hogwarts year; they look alike and sound like. They might as well be twins, and with the mischief they're already causing, they're definitely Weasleys.

He and George are _very_ proud.

"Alright!" Hermione announces, "everyone ready?"

"Yes, mum," the kids chorus, and if Fred joins in, well, nobody knows but him.

They stumble downstairs , Hermione taking Jon's hand and Fred taking Matt's, Toni tagging along with her father while Arthur fights to keep up with his mother (out of the four of them, Arthur is most like his mother; the other three are wicked smart but have a little bit of a streak for mischief; though trouble always seems to find Hermione and Arthur anyway). Outside, an inconspicuous car is waiting for them, and Harry steps out of the driver's seat to greet them. "Uncle Harry!" The kids cry, all rushing to hug him.

"Fred-and-Hermione-Spawn!" Harry greets them just as enthusiastically, beaming at Toni especially; he'd never say it out loud, but she's his favorite niece; she's very similar to Harry and they get along well. "How goes it, Toni?"

"Oh, I was doing fine before I saw your old face," Toni looks at her uncle seriously before smirking at Harry, who feigns a wounded look. Fred feels Hermione lace her fingers through his, squeezing. Fred squeezes back. The trunks are loaded into the car and then Fred opens a door, his kids climbing in.

Inside, the car is huge; fourteen children are chatting animatedly while parents speak amongst each other. Toni bounds off to find Roxanne and James; Arthur goes and finds Rubeus Regulus Potter, Harry and Ginny's second son, who is sitting with Rose, Luna and Ron's daughter. Victoire and Teddy sit in a corner, holding hands, Bill watching them carefully while Ginny snickers at her eldest brother. Peter, George and Angelina's eldest, sits with Victoire and Teddy, and from the looks of it, he's making fun of them. Jon and Matt go off and find Lily and Orion, who are playing some game next to Percy. Molly, Percy's daughter, is reading a book; it looks as if Rubeus is attempting to distract her, though.

Hermione goes off to sit up front, in between Harry (who's driving) and Ron (who's navigating). Fred takes a seat next to George and Ginny, listening to Ginny tease an obviously agitated Bill on his daughter's dating Ginny's adopted son. George seems to have joined in, too, and it doesn't take Fred long to get in on it as well. Angelina is talking to Fleur and Percy, and the Weasley matriarch, Molly Weasley herself, is sitting with Luna, talking about who-knows-what. Only Charlie's missing, but he'll be around for Christmas; he always is.

Fred grins to himself, wondering, not for the first time, how he got so lucky.

* * *

Toni's in her last year of Hogwarts when Hermione comes home in tears. Fred, alarmed, puts down the book where he'd been reviewing some notes he'd written earlier on a possible potion for a product. He rushes over to her and removes her cloak from her shoulders before pulling her into a hug. It isn't everyday Hermione Granger-Weasley was caught crying, even by her husband. Fred runs a hand through his hair, which now sports a little bit of white here-and-there, circling his arms around his beautiful wife and kissing the top of her head.

Finally, when Hermione's more-or-less composed herself, she looks up at him, something like deep sorrow in her eyes, and says what's been weighing on her: "My mum's dead."

He feels a shock course through him; Leia Granger can't be _dead,_ she _can't_ be, that would Hermione an orphan and that's just not-

He looks at his wife again, at the heaviness in her eyes, and braces himself. Leia Granger is dead.

Hermione pushes through, deeper into their house, taking off her shoes and undoing her long, braided hair. "I knew it would happen; when dad died all those years ago I _knew_ she wouldn't live forever."

Memories flash of Henry Granger's death, but Fred shoves them aside as Hermione runs a hand through her dark hair; it's gotten darker with age. "I just, I never thought..."

"I didn't either," Fred admits, taking her in his arms again and rocking them back and forth as she cries against his chest; she's held him when he's screamed with grief, she's kept him from breaking when he's been so confused he couldn't breathe, been there when he needed her the most, and he hopes it's vice versa. He holds her now and doesn't plan on letting go anytime soon.

"I miss her." Hermione sniffs. "I miss them." She looks at him, into his hazel eyes, and he understands: Leia, Henry, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Albus, Arthur, Lavender, Andromeda, people they never got the chance to meet but should've, days that never happened because of war. But Leia didn't die in a war. And somehow that makes it harder. "Mum didn't die fighting, she died in a regular way, and it's got me thinking that one day that'll be _you._ My parents are gone, Fred," her voice drops, "I don't know if I can lose you, too."

Something akin to pain swells inside him, and he takes her hand, dragging them towards a balcony not too unlike that one where they sat in their youth.

"I'm not immortal," Fred confides, pulling a snort out of his wife. "You're not either. None of us are; we can't promise you eternal life, and you know that." Hermione nods stiffly. "But your mother, she loved you forever and after that, and she made sure you knew it. She gave you memories, didn't she?" He pulls her closer to him, "Merlin knows I have memories of my father and how much he loved us. And that's not a substitute, not at all, but it reminds you why they're worth grieving." He kisses her temple, "your mother is-" he chokes on the word _"-was,_ something, Hermione. She was fantastic."

"She really loved you."

"She really loved _you."_

The silence settles around them before Fred finally says what's been weighing on them both. "I'm going to love you til my lungs give out," he informs her, "I promised you, in our vows, _til death we part,_ and I meant it. I said I'd stay with you until we're grey and old and even after that. And I meant it." His voice drops as their foreheads touch. "And if I'm to part this earth first, remember that. I love you more than is humanly possible, Hermione."

"Just..." she seizes his hands, "say you won't let go?"

Fred nods.

"Never."

When they kiss, she's not healed and he's not any less war-scarred, but they know that if they've got each other they can make it.

* * *

"I'm so in love with you," Fred says to her as they dance underneath the garden lights. Harry has decided that they should have a party, for the following reasons: He'd accepted the position as Headmaster of Hogwarts, it was his birthday, and the last of their children had graduated Hogwarts. People around them laugh and talk, almost all of them related to Fred and Hermione; and if they aren't, they might as well be. He spots Peter flirting with Neville's daughter and Rubeus making fun of Scorpius, people running this way and that, stuffing their mouths or dancing. Hermione smiles at him as they dance, blushing as if this is the first time he's ever told her he loves her. "And I hope you know, darling," Fred continues, voice almost conspiratorial, "that your love is worth more than its weight in gold."

Hermione buries her face in his chest before smiling up at him; he spins her out and she catches sight of just-graduated Jon and Matt speaking to George, probably about starting a business; her sons want to start a restaurant. Toni laughs in the corner with Harry and Ron; Arthur talking animatedly with Percy. "We've come so far, my dear," Hermione says, almost without realizing. Fred looks at her, understanding in his eyes, and she continues, "look how we've grown." He has to agree; though there are people missing (Tonks, the Marauders, his father, Minerva, and -most recently- his mother) there are more people living. "I'm glad you decided to stay with me."

"Hey," Fred kisses her, acting for all the world as if they're nineteen and twenty-one again. "I promised you I'd stay with you until we're old, right?"

"It used to be _grey_ and old," Hermione corrects, "but since we've already achieved grey, guess you had to improvise, hm?" She grins, and he feigns offense.

"My hair is still as red as it was when I was born, _thank you very much."_

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, dearest."

They laugh, bright and happy, before Fred sobers up and says, "just, promise me one thing?"

"Whatever you like, my husband."

And even though it's been years, his heart still fills with excitement and joy at her calling him _husband._

"Say you won't let go."

Hermione rises onto her tiptoes and kisses him (earning her a loud _"EW"_ from Harry, Ron, Ginny and George). She grins radiantly at him, and even though she's got grey in her hair and wrinkles on her skin, she still looks nineteen and brilliantly driven to him.

He still looks twenty-one and a handsome trickster to her.

"I won't let go."

They sway a little to the music, Fred spinning her again so her skirts fan out before Ginny bounds up to them, as energetic as if she was seventeen. "Fred, we're playing quidditch, in or out?"

"George playing?"

"Of course," Ginny grins, "and he wants to have the other master beater with him."

"You playing as chaser?"

Ginny nods, "It's the parents against the kids; you and George as beaters, Harry as seeker, Ron as keeper, Angelina, Charlie and I as chasers." Ginny confidently adds, "we've got it in the bag."

"You seem awfully confident," Hermione arches a brow.

Fred hoots, "she should be! Those kids might be young, but we've got a retired award-winning quidditch player, _two_ Gryffindor quidditch captains -one of which is the _youngest seeker in history,_ twin master beaters, the Weasley King, and Charlie, who always liked chaser better than seeker anyway."

"Really?" Ginny looks intrigued. "I don't think I knew that."

"Yeah; but he couldn't find a good seeker so he did it himself back at Hogwarts."

Ginny nods. "Hermione, do you want to be referee?" She grins, "Luna and Lee are commentating."

Hermione snorts, "like you'd want _me_ on a broom. Maybe I'll join Luna and Lee to make sure they don't say anything inappropriate."

"Sounds good, McGonagall," Ginny grins wickedly before bounding off to ask Bill if he'd referee.

Fred's bouncing on his toes, looking for all the world like he's sixteen again. "Gotta go talk strategy, love. Cheer me on?"

"Of course." Hermione nods, catching him just before he can leave. He turns to look at her questioningly, but is cut short when she plants a firm kiss onto his lips. It leaves him dizzy and she grins at him upon pulling away. "A kiss for good luck."

He shakes his head, running a hand through his white-and-red hair before saying, "with a kiss like that there's no _way_ we can lose."

He bounds off.

It ends up being Ginny, Angelina, and Charlie as chasers, with Fred and George as beaters, Ron as keeper, and Harry as seeker. On the opposing team, it's Toni, Matt, and Jon as chasers, with Peter and James as beaters, Rose as keeper, and Teddy as seeker. Lily, who typically plays as a chaser but has decided to forgo playing this time 'round, is appointed referee along with Bill. Everyone else either didn't play quidditch or was content to watch (save for Victoire, who's a brilliant seeker but couldn't play due to her pregnancy).

Lily and Lee do their job of commentating quite well, and Hermione ends up coming down to sit with Neville for the remainder of the match; he and Hannah are craning their necks towards the sky, finger entwined. A few tables away, their daughter Bernadette is talking animatedly with Victoire and Fleur as they watch the match.

It ends with the parents winning, and the adults down below cheer while the now-grown children grumble. Everyone lands in pretty good spirits, though, talking amongst each other until someone pushes through the horde, barreling straight towards Hermione-

Fred breaks free of the ruckus, everyone chattering, but most have their eye on him in interest now. "We won!" He exclaims, giddy as he kisses her in excitement, dipping her back, so low that a foot comes off the ground.

Silence settles across the Burrow's gardens as Fred snogs Hermione thoroughly, two fully-grown adults kissing like they're sixth years at Hogwarts. When they pull away, George wolf-whistles and Neville cries out, "what, reenacting Harry and Ginny's first kiss after we won the house cup without Potter?"

Fred shoots back, "nah, this kiss was _way_ better; and besides, I wasn't there for that."

"I was," Ron grumbles out.

"Relax," Luna chides, "it's been twenty-something years."

Ron laughs, and everyone follows his lead, delving back into their post-match celebrations as the grown-adult children grumble good naturedly.

As his wife smiles at him, Fred decides that it's a good night.

* * *

"Do you miss her?"

The voice sounds far away, and indeed, Fred has to blink twice before coming back to earth. He's sitting outside of the Burrow, where Victoire and Teddy now live, wind blowing through his long-ago-turned-white hair, staring at a photograph.

She's young, there. They hadn't even started dating when this photo was taken.

Fred turns and eyes his great-grandson. Christopher is Arthur's grandson; the rest of Fred's grandchildren (Vanessa and Victor, Toni's twins, Zayn, Matt's son, and Leia, Jon's daughter) are inside, and their own children are very young still. Everyone -including Fred's own children- are inside tending to them. Only Christopher, the eldest great-grandchild at fifteen (a solid seven years older than the next great-grandchild) is outside with the Weasley patriarch. All of his sibling's children and grandchildren are inside, too; Victoire and Teddy's kids, James' spawn, the whole nine yards. But Fred is outside, with Christopher, alone. The last of his kind.

Christopher points to the photograph again, where she's got her head thrown back in laughter, eyes bright. This was taken a mere three months after the war; indeed, she's wearing a tank top and that scar on her arm is bright and angry against the sun. She's beautiful in this photo.

But then, she was always beautiful.

"Do you miss her?" Christopher asks again. There's a certain something in his grandson's eyes, and Fred knows that Christopher misses his great-grandmother almost as much as Teddy misses his godfather, almost as much as Hagrid misses Dumbledore.

("It's hard, isn't it?" Hagrid had asked him one day, deep in the darkness. "To outlive them all."

"You should know," he'd responded. Hagrid had stilled.

"Live too long, I s'pose." The half-giant sniffled.

Even Hagrid's gone, now.)

"I miss all of them," Fred confides, his voice firm. "I miss dad with his stupid non-stop chatter about muggles, I miss mum and her scolding us to be careful. I miss Bill's ranting about Gringotts, Fleur's annoying words of wisdom, Charlie ruining everyone's accomplishments simply by saying _I work with dragons,_ Percy's insatiable desire to climb to the top. I miss how Ron would always beat us at chess and I miss how Ginny and Harry would stare stupidly into each other's eyes. I miss Angelina, and I miss Lee, and Neville and Luna and Katie and Alicia."

"What about..." Christopher fights for the words, _"them?"_

 _Them._

Fred knows all-too-well to whom his great-grandson refers.

He wonders briefly how wars are being taught at Hogwarts, if Christopher is learning about the brutality of it all, about how Fred was in the hospital for two months, healing his right arm, about how the scars on his back and stomach are still there, about how she died with those words still imprinted on her skin, about how Harry never got rid of that lightning bolt, how Ron was buried with angry purple marks on his skin and how George never got the chance to regrow that ear.

George.

He sits with her in Fred's memories, chatting animatedly with Fred's wife about this and that. The two people that mattered -that _matter-_ most to him in life.

When Hermione died, Fred didn't think he could make it.

But now George has been gone for a month and Fred _knows_ he won't make it.

"I miss them the most."

Christopher, who has Hermione's hair and her keen eyes, looks saddened by Fred's words.

"But I'll be gone soon," Fred confides. He grins at Christopher, "maybe even gone today; about damn time, eh?" He looks a little grief-stricken, but that's to be expected. "They can't wait to see me, you know."

Now he looks startled; Fred feels bad for messing with him for about five seconds before he pushes the feeling aside, "then again, who _can_ wait to see me? War hero, co-founder of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, master beater, husband to the brightest witch of her age and the handsomer of the famous Weasley twins."

"You're really something, pops." Chris stands. "Want more firewhisky?"

The rest of the family reprimands Christopher for indulging his great-grandfather's less-than-healthy practices, but Chris brushes it off; Fred is old and he'll go either way. Might as well give him a drink.

"Nah," he smiles, "but you can pretend you're getting me a drink and have it yourself if you want."

"You're the best." Chris grins.

"I know," Fred smiles as the door to the Burrow shuts behind him.

The night sky engulfs him and he stares out at the garden, memories racing past his old eyes. It's not everyday that he feels his age; usually he feels twenty years younger. But ever since the last of his siblings had passed, he'd been feeling even more gnarled than his age would tell him to be. If anyone were to catch sight of him right now, they'd see white hair framed by night, drooped shoulders defeated by exhaustion.

Fred closes his eyes, giving into the tiredness, and almost without realizing, his heart slows.

And it slows, and it slows.

And it slows.

* * *

 _"Fred."_

 _"Fred, wake up."_

 _"Fred, listen to me when I'm talking to you, Merlin- FRED, wake up!"_

His eyes open wide and he takes a deep breath as someone stands over him. With a start, he realizes that someone looks exactly like him -except much younger. Red hair and kind eyes, smile lines and a tall frame. "Who are you?" Fred asks.

The character in front of him frowns, "wow, and here I thought we were twins. _Really,_ Forge," the young man uses an old nickname that gives Fred a start, "you've let me down."

Fred blinks.

"What the hell. _George?"_

His twin brother winks, "the one and only, dear brother of mine."

"But you're-" Fred bites back a confused sob "-you're supposed to be _dead,_ George."

George blinks. "I am dead."

"What?"

"You're dead, too."

 _"What?"_

"Or, well," George frowns, "close to it. You're dying, is more accurate." He holds out a hand, and Fred takes it, raising himself to his feet. "We've been waiting for you for a long time."

"I've been waiting, too." Fred runs a hand through his hair. "Are you all there?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" George frowns again, "think one of us is evil?"

"Well, I was never _that_ sure about Harry-"

George hoots with laughter, "I missed you." He gives Fred a hug, and Fred feels himself bite back another sob as he hugs his twin brother back.

"I missed you, too."

Another voice says, "I like to think you missed me, too."

Fred's heart stops and time slows as he turns around.

She looks seventeen and radiant, her hair bushy and her eyes bright, no scar on her arm and no slight wince to her gait from when she broke her bone protecting a student from a troll (later, she'd rolled her eyes at the luck of having won a troll fight at eleven but losing one at forty-two). Fred feels himself leave George's support, eyes trained on the love of his life -his wife, radiant as ever.

 _"Hermione,"_ he breathes out, as if her name is holy and sacred.

 _"Fred,"_ she says in return, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

George comes to stand next to Hermione as Fred marvels them both, just now realizing that George has both ears. "You have your ear back," Fred says stupidly.

"That happens here," George nods. "Harry lost that blasted lightning bolt once he got here, too."

Hermione takes Fred's hand, "and look, you're seventeen again." She holds his hands up to his face and he finds that they're wrinkle-free and young. "Are you ready to join us?"

"My wonderful wife," Fred says as she begins to walk away from him, towards what looks suspiciously like his father's Ford Anglia. "That is the only stupid question you've ever asked."

Hermione looks at him over her shoulder, smiling brilliantly at him, and for a minute Fred forgets that he's older, that they're not young, that they're about to take the trek to the afterlife. All he knows is that he wants to dance with her right now.

They clamber into the car and then something happens all at once; there's a rushing sound and they're all speeding towards a bright, unceasing light, and then it suddenly stops. Laughter rings in his ears and he finds his reflection in the car's mirror; young and ridiculously redheaded, and wholeheartedly _alive._ More alive than he's ever felt, and he's _dead._

Hermione leads him out of the car, into a world too beautiful to even begin to describe, but to Fred, it pales in comparison to his wife. "You look as beautiful as ever," Fred says as he pulls her close, "you look more beautiful than ever."

"Smooth-talker, are we?"

"Some things never change," Fred grins cheekily at her as their foreheads meet.

"You promised me until we were grey and old, until _death we part,_ like in our vows."

"And now," Fred kisses her forehead before kissing her cheek, "I promise forever after that."

"I like the sound of that."

Their lips meet for the first time in too long, and Fred grins against it as Hermione laughs joyfully. "Just, do one thing for me in return."

Hermione nods, already expecting his question. "And what could that possibly be, husband of mine?"

His heart skips a beat. It's been too long since she'd called him that.

"Just... say you won't let go."

Hermione plants a firm kiss on Fred's lips before pulling away and lacing their fingers together. George slings an arm around Fred's shoulders as they catch sight of their father, sitting under a tree. Fred feels an overwhelming sense of joy at the sight of everyone he's ever loved sitting underneath that same tree, and even some people he doesn't recognize, talking and laughing; Harry is among them, looking finally at peace, and Fred feels comfort; his brother deserves peace and joy more than most.

As George and Hermione drag Fred towards the tree, Arthur Weasley waves. "Do you still sound like me?" He calls out, smiling.

Fred laughs, a breathy sound that captures his joy. "Yeah, dad." He says, tears shining in his eyes. "I still sound like you."

Hermione kisses Fred's jaw chastely.

She whispers, "I won't let go."

 **fin.**

* * *

 _"when you looked over your shoulder,  
for a minute i forget that i'm older;  
i wanna dance with you right now.  
oh, and you look as beautiful as ever,  
and i swear that everyday'll get better  
-you make me feel this way somehow."  
_ **-james arthur, _say you won't let go._**

* * *

 **Reviews would be nice! I hope you enjoyed this read.**


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